Threading the Needle

by Joshua Palmatier

  They passed a much wider corridor, continuing on its far side, the tenor of the hall changing. Here there were enforcers mingling in the halls or relaxing in their rooms, all with the air of rank. Kara assumed these were barracks for the commanders, more central than the barracks for the common soldiers she’d seen below. The men and women they passed eyed Kara critically, judging her potential as a threat, most dismissing her after a few seconds.

  Then Marcus halted, shoving open a door to the left and motioning Kara inside.

  When she hesitated, he said, “You don’t have a choice.”

  The room was small, a cot against one wall, table with a pitcher and cup next to it, a chair tucked into one corner. A ley globe hovered overhead, but sunlight streamed in through the open window on the far wall. After pausing just inside the door, Kara headed to the window and looked down on a wide circular area at ground level, the black pearlescent stone of the Needle at the center, rising so far overhead Kara couldn’t see its tip, even by craning her neck. The area around the Needle was paved in stone, the stellae she’d expected jutting up like fingers of rock. There was no obvious pattern to them, although she knew from her studies that the stellae at all of the ancient nodes had been placed with perfect alignment by their ancestors, their precision awe-inspiring.

  Or they had been placed perfectly, before Prime Wielder Augustus had created the Nexus in Erenthrall. With that now destroyed, and at least two cities enclosed in distortions, who knew what the ley lines looked like.

  Below, a group of three White Cloaks emerged from a door in the lowest tier of the temple, crossed the sand-colored area containing the stellae, and entered an opening in the side of the black Needle. Kara hadn’t even realized the opening was there.

  “I can’t believe you’re creating another Nexus, Marcus. After everything that the Kormanley did in Erenthrall to destroy the one there, after all of their preaching about returning the ley to its natural order, you stand here now and create another one all over again. Look at the damage you’ve done already!”

  She turned when she heard a footfall behind her. Marcus had stepped into the room. Darius watched from outside. Marcus looked as though he wanted to approach her, put his hands on her shoulders as he’d once done in Erenthrall, before the Shattering, before the black-haired woman Dierdre had torn them apart, but he didn’t, conscious of Darius in the doorway.

  “You don’t understand. It’s not that simple.”

  “Then make me understand. What’s not simple? It’s seems fairly straightforward to me.”

  “You’re right. We are creating another Nexus. Or we’re trying to.”

  Behind, Darius stiffened. “Marcus.”

  “I know what I’m doing. She needs to know, especially if we’re going to get her to help.”

  Marcus waited, but Darius remained silent.

  “Yes, I was manipulating the ley in Erenthrall before the Shattering. There were others, but I was the one altering the Nexus that afternoon.”

  Kara’s stomach dropped out from beneath her. Even though she had told everyone after the Shattering that Marcus had been the one responsible, even though she’d seen the manipulation coming from Eld in the sands at the University, she’d harbored a small hope that somehow she’d misinterpreted events, that somehow Marcus hadn’t been involved.

  “You admit it. You admit to destroying the Nexus, to destroying Erenthrall and everything else the ley network was attached to.”

  “I admit to changing the Nexus, realigning it, before the Shattering. But I didn’t destroy it. The surge of power didn’t come from the node in Eld. The surge came from Tumbor.”

  Kara’s mouth opened, but no words came out. She didn’t know what to say, uncertain whether she believed him. He said it with confidence, but then he’d always been confident, even when he was wrong. She clutched tighter to herself, hollow inside, empty.

  Marcus took a step forward, one hand outstretched, but she backed away, stumbled into the small table. The pitcher sloshed water; the cup rattled.

  Marcus lowered his hand. “It was Baron Leethe. Dalton said he was the one who supported the Kormanley in their attacks on the city. He was the one who wanted Baron Arent’s control of the Nexus broken.”

  “And you helped him.” But then the full extent of his betrayal hit. “You helped the Kormanley, the group that killed my parents. You bastard!”

  She’d shoved away from the table, knocking the pitcher to its side, and made it halfway across the room before Marcus shouted, “No!”

  She halted. Not because of Marcus, but because Darius now stood in the room, sword drawn, point toward her.

  She curled her fingers into fists and focused on Marcus. “You just admitted you worked for the Kormanley!”

  “There were two sets of Kormanley in the city, Kara! One sect was the one who bombed Seeley’s Park and killed your parents. They were violent. They were the ones bent on ending Baron Arent’s stranglehold on Erenthrall by setting the city on fire. They set all of the bombs, including the one at the Amber Tower that set off the Purge. I wasn’t part of that group. Neither was Ischua.”

  Kara recoiled. “Ischua?”

  “Yes, Ischua. He was part of the Kormanley as well, the real Kormanley, the one led by Father Dalton.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  Marcus stepped forward, to within a pace of her. “Didn’t you recognize him?”

  “Who?”

  “Dalton. Father. He’s the man who ran into us at the market the day Ischua died. Dalton had been tracked down by the Hounds. He was attempting to escape them when he stumbled upon Ischua at that market. We were both there. He warned Ischua, told him to run, and fled. Then the Dogs showed up with the Hound and the entire market erupted into a massacre.”

  Images from that day flared across Kara’s vision and she turned away. She barely noticed that Darius had lowered his sword. She heard the screams as the Dogs began slaughtering people indiscriminately. She saw Ischua standing up to them, saw the Hound sink his blade into her mentor’s gut.

  And she suddenly remember the man who’d started it all, the man who’d raced through the market, who’d plowed into Ischua and said . . .

  You have to run. The Dogs have found me. . . . If they found me, then they’ll find the others. They’ll find you. You have to warn them. Warn them all to get out of Erenthrall!

  “No.” She reached out a hand to steady herself against the table, her palm landing in the water from the pitcher that had spilled across its surface and now dripped to the floor.

  “The black-haired man was Dalton. He was talking about the Kormanley, Kara. He—and Ischua and Dierdre and then me—we were all trying to free the ley from the Baron’s control. That’s all.”

  As if he’d summoned her, Dierdre appeared in the doorway, clearing her throat to catch their attention. Kara stiffened, unable to suppress a surge of age-old hurt as she saw the woman. She’d aged since Kara had last seen her, before the Shattering—around the eyes and neck—but her hair was still long and a thick black.

  “Father wants to know what’s taking so long. He’s waiting for you inside the Needle.”

  “He’s been telling her about Father,” Darius said. “And the Needle.”

  “Without Father’s leave?”

  Marcus spun toward her. “She’ll only help us if she understands what we’re trying to do here. I know her, Deirdre. Threatening her friends won’t get her to cooperate. It will drive her further away.”

  “What have you said?”

  “Nothing important.”

  “Only who Father really is. And Baron Leethe’s part in the Kormanley. And what he did to the Nexus from Eld before the Shattering.”

  Dierdre considered Darius’ words in silence. Then, to Marcus: “Nothing important?”

  “We’ll have to explain much more than that if we w
ant her help. And we can’t lie to her. I lied to her before, about you, about the Kormanley, and it only drove her away.”

  Kara switched her gaze from Dierdre to Marcus’ back.

  “Explain it to Father.”

  Marcus looked back at Kara over his shoulder, his expression troubled, then moved toward Deirdre. “We’d better not keep him waiting any longer then.”

  Dierdre took hold of him, wrapping her arm through his and twining fingers before they stepped from view down the corridor. Kara heard her say something, voice sharp, the words indistinguishable.

  She turned her gaze on Darius. The enforcer sheathed his sword, then left, closing the door behind him. A lock bolt snicked into place.

  Twenty

  “WAIT.” The skin along Allan’s forearms and across his shoulders prickled. He halted, the creek they’d been following toward the Hollow gurgling off to the right, their wagon creaking behind him. A breeze rustled through the leaves of the trees overhead, birds chirping the last of their early morning chorus, and Gaven and Glenn chatted excitedly with Artras at the wagon. They were close to the Hollow and everyone knew it.

  But his arms still pricked with gooseflesh.

  He hissed for quiet, one hand thrown back in warning. Artras broke off in midlaugh, startled, one hand going to her chest. The light in her eyes that had grown the closer they got to the Hollow suddenly dropped away like a stone. Glenn’s transformation was even quicker, the Dog already sliding off the wagon’s bench, a knife in one hand. Gaven jerked the horse to a halt, the animal snorting in protest. From the back of the wagon, Allan heard a low growl from the Wolf a moment before Cutter’s head appeared, the tracker scanning the woods before slipping out of the back of the wagon. His arm was still bound to his chest, but he’d regained some strength. Not enough to draw a bow yet, but he’d been working it stubbornly since they’d left Erenthrall and entered the plains.

  He and Glenn both moved to Allan’s side.

  “What is it?”

  “We’re close to the Hollow, close enough we should be hearing Bryce training the new Dogs, or the refugees working on the new cottages, if nothing else. I don’t hear anything.”

  “They taught us to trust our instincts in the Dogs. What do you want to do?”

  “I can scout out the village.” Both turned to stare at Cutter’s arm. “I can’t draw a bow, but I can still sneak through the woods better than either of you.”

  “Don’t go too far. I don’t want to be sitting here in the open with the wagon for long.”

  Cutter took off, bounding over the creek and up the far slope, vanishing within five breaths. Allan stood with Glenn, the Dog’s gaze darting back and forth, searching.

  “I don’t like it either, now that you’ve drawn my attention to it.” Glenn sniffed the air. “Is that smoke?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  Both of them turned back to the wagon, toward Artras. She climbed down from the bench.

  “I thought it was just a cook fire.”

  “Not a cook fire. It’s stronger and darker. Older. I’m only getting it when the breeze gusts just right, but it’s coming from the direction of the Hollow.”

  “What could have happened?”

  “Anything. We’ve been gone almost three months.”

  The three of them fell silent, waiting.

  All of them started when the Wolf grunted and climbed to his feet. He was tied to both sides of the wagon, tethered so that he couldn’t reach Gaven at the front of the wagon, but with enough leeway that he could jump down from the back and walk behind if he wanted. They could cinch his lead from the front of the wagon without approaching him, force him back into the bed, but after a few days of failed attempts at escape with the new arrangement, he’d settled down in resignation. He let Artras approach him with food, but none of the others could get close without eliciting a low, deadly growl.

  Gaven twisted to look at him, but the Wolf ignored him. Allan knew he’d reached the limit of his lead simply by standing.

  The Wolf’s nostrils flared, scenting the air. Then his lips drew back, the fur along his spine bristling. A low growl rumbled from his chest as he lowered his head.

  “That doesn’t sound good.”

  Glenn stepped to one side and drew his sword. Allan shifted in the opposite direction and drew his own. The minutes stretched out, the Wolf’s growl never wavering. He’d shifted forward, his restraints taut, his ears forward. Gaven reached for the cudgel he now kept at his feet, letting it rest in his lap. The horse sidestepped, jangling its harness.

  Then the Wolf’s growl spiked. From the woods, a liquid gurgle sounded, followed by a rustling thump and the crackling sound of fallen leaves as something was dragged forward. The Wolf’s growl ended in a huff, and he settled back down onto his stomach.

  Cutter reappeared, dragging a body behind him. He brought it to the edge of the creek and dropped it before crossing over to their side. The man’s throat had been cut, the wound gaping with the tilt of his head and the incline of the slope. He was in his thirties, with a thick, gnarled beard, eyes blackened by charcoal or ash. He wore makeshift boiled leather armor over chest and thighs, but nothing on his arms or lower legs. Allan didn’t recognize him.

  “Who’s that?”

  “The man on guard who’d seen us.”

  “He’s not from the Hollow. Or at least, he wasn’t part of the Hollow when we left.”

  “No, not from the Hollow. The Hollow’s been destroyed. Burned to the ground. This man’s with the group that did it. They’ve set up camp in the refugees’ meadow. They aren’t well equipped, but they’re organized. Raiders, like those we ran into on the plains. It looks like they’ve been there for a few days at least, maybe a week. Some of the buildings in the village are still smoldering, although everything’s been reduced to ash and stone. Most of the meeting hall is still standing, only one wall collapsed. The barns and cottages are nothing but charred supports. They even stove in the side of the communal oven.”

  Allan thought of his daughter, of Cory and Hernande, of all of those they’d left behind. Artras looked stricken.

  “What about the villagers? Did you see Sophia or Paul? Hernande? Did you see any bodies?”

  “There are some bodies in the village.” He shot Allan a pained look. “I couldn’t get close enough to identify them, but I don’t think any of them were Morrell. There were maybe twenty in all, scattered, left where they’d fallen. I didn’t see anyone from the Hollow in the attacker’s camp. They either killed anyone they captured, or they didn’t find anyone to take prisoner. I did a quick run around their camp and the village, but I didn’t see anyone else except guards like this one, out on patrol or on watch. I don’t think he’d warned the others we were here, unless he had a partner, but none of the others out on guard were in pairs.”

  Allan forced himself to think. “That doesn’t make sense. Where’d everyone in the Hollow go?”

  “Maybe they fled before the attackers arrived.”

  “Then why are there bodies in the village?”

  “Because Paul and the other Hollowers wouldn’t abandon their village that easily.”

  “Then maybe the villagers were caught by surprise. Most of them fled while some stayed behind to buy them time. That would explain the bodies. But why are the raiders still here? You said they’ve been camped here for days.”

  “Reveling in their victory?” Glenn offered.

  Cutter considered. “I didn’t see much revelry. In fact, I didn’t see much of anything in the camp. No stacks of food or supplies. Not enough to account for what they’d have found in the village. And they have guardsmen everywhere, especially to the west. It’s almost as if they’re—”

  “Searching,” Allan broke in. “They’re searching. Bryce wouldn’t have sat idly by, not after we were attacked on the plains. He’d have had patrols. He w
as starting to organize them when we left. Which means the village would have had some warning. Maybe not much, but some. The Hollow isn’t easy to defend—too open, too many directions from which to attack. He would have looked for some place to go to ground, to hide. The Hollowers must have fled to whatever he’d found as a retreat, and these raiders are now searching for them.” He turned to Cutter and Gaven. “Where would they have gone? Where could they have hidden themselves that’s near the village?”

  Gaven and Cutter eyed each other.

  “It would be to the west. That’s where the raiders are searching.”

  “There are caves to the west, not that far from the village. Children go there to play. Adults, too.” Gaven cleared his throat self-consciously. “For, ah, a different kind of play.”

  “But the caves aren’t that deep. I don’t know if they would hold the entire village—”

  “Is there anywhere else they could have gone?” When both Cutter and Gaven shook their heads, Allan said, “Then that’s where they’ve gone, even if it’s only temporary. Can we get there without running into the raiders?”

  “I’ll find a way.” Cutter headed for the woods to the south and west.

  “What about him?” Glenn pointed toward the dead raider. “They’re going to notice he’s missing eventually.”

  “We don’t have time to bury him, but we can try to cover his body.”

  They had to backtrack. Cutter didn’t want to risk running into the raiders out searching, and they’d widened their search area since his first scouting trip. Allan curbed his impatience—he wanted to see Morrell, wanted to know she was safe and unharmed—as they turned the wagon around and headed northward again. It was approaching evening by the time Allan called a halt.